


Whatever This Is

by GreedIsGreen



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Can you tell?, F/M, Hope I did these two justice, I binged Glow this weekend, I've learned to accept it, Mutual Pining, My type is misanthropic older men, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sailing on the Sam x Ruth ship, Takes place post S2, toot toot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 22:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreedIsGreen/pseuds/GreedIsGreen
Summary: The girls called it a wrap party — nevermind that they’d never actually thrown a wrap party in the almost two years they’d been doing the show.





	Whatever This Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WriterChick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/gifts).



> These two are just so fucking delicious. I couldn't resist. I pray I did justice to the characters as I generally do not delve outside my little creepyship bubble. Enjoy! :)

The girls called it a wrap party — nevermind that they’d never actually thrown a wrap party in the almost two years they’d been doing the show; this show that was supposed to be a temporary gig, but had somehow turned into a steady career of sorts. Steady for him that is. 

His entire life had, in a way, felt like one big epic montage. _Chariots of Fire_ kind of shit, only instead of running in slow-mo through beach waves, he’s dashing to different set locations, meeting different producers, hustling to get his shit made, convinced that maybe this time he’ll make it big. But big never came, and money grew tight(in no small part to the various addictions that helped feed his own self-loathing), and he took the first decent paying offer to direct he’d had in ten years or more. 

_GLOW_

Fuck, how he hated it in the beginning; resented it. Yeah, he got to sit down and watch tits and ass flounce around like every teenage boy’s wet dream, but how much T&A can a man watch before it becomes white noise? He even went off and fucked Rhonda — _Rhonda_ , of all people — just to remind himself he still had a cock. Sleeping with actresses was always considered a perk of the job, but she didn’t even _care_ ; no sneaky hanky panky in darkened corridors during this run. Everyone fucking knew, and it sucked all the damn fun out of it for him. To add insult to injury, she fucking ended it before he could. That fucking stung. Who dumps the damn director?

Yet, somewhere along the way, he grew a grudging respect for the women in his charge. Even had a millisecond of actual pride during their last taping when everything came together; when Ruth swung headlong into the ring with a broken ankle and snatched the title. Okay, so maybe more than a millisecond.

Sam’s moustache twitched ever so slightly to one side as he brought a fresh lit cigarette to his lips and watched the spitfire, herself, laughing in hushed whispers to a few of the other girls. Watched as she sent them scattering off to do who knows what for this surprise she’s arranged. He wonders how exactly she figured it out, trying to remember if he’d ever slumped in a drunken stupor and spilled his guts to her during one of their director’s meetings that ran well past midnight. No. Well, maybe with enough blow, but he’s cut down considerably since reaching Sin City. Ironic, that.

Half of him wanted to run the moment the sound system cut out, but then the chorus started, and Ruth was wheeling a ridiculous frosted confection dressed up like a disco ball towards him, and she was so damn happy believing she’d one-upped him this time. He’d never tell her he figured out her game in the first ten minutes — not when she’s wearing a smile like that.

* * *

“Did you like it? Were you surprised?” Ruth asked with narrowly veiled excitement, as she plopped down beside him.

The last of the party had trickled out into the nightlife, and it was just them now. Somehow — he wasn’t entirely sure how — it always wound up just them. Ruth and he always the odd ones out, their own little sub group in a group of oddballs.

A begrudging, pleased countenance lifted the corners of his ever-frowning mouth, almost bashful, as he admitted, lied, “Yeah. Yeah, I actually did.” He took a sip from the flask of warm bourbon in his hand. “Still can’t figure out how you found out though. I never told you about my birthday.”

“Your driver’s license,” she explained merrily. “When the venue was making us all fill out the liability and insurance paperwork, you got pissed with the set crew, and stormed off. You threw your wallet at me and told me to ‘finish the fucking thing for me’ and ran out in the middle of the human resource liason’s spiel.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, a hand scratching along his jaw. “I forgot about that. Did I ever sign that shit?” His brow furrowed at her in question.

“As far as they’re aware, yes. I’ve signed enough forms in your name by now to do a fairly decent forgery of your signature,” she laughed, though he knew it wasn’t a joke. She was an amazing woman, picking up his slack, always placing the show first. While she was unofficially a director and writer, he was the shit stain who got all the glory when it went right —something that happened rarely in a live stage show. Three of their last seven performances had fuck-ups that led to a slew of improvisation by the girls. They all did adequately to recover. Some more than others.

He glanced at Ruth’s downturned smiling face, as she fidgeted with a streamer that’d been ripped down earlier, remembering some half-formed piece of gossip he’d heard Mel spouting in hushed tones. 

He flexed a hand over his thigh, drying the sweat on his palm. Nonchalantly, “So how’s Russell?”

A hitch in her breath. So tiny he almost missed it, except that he never seemed to miss anything she did these days. “He’s fine,” she answered, voice reedy.

“You haven’t mentioned him in awhile. I haven’t seen him in months, and I know you haven’t been visiting.”

Ruth chewed her lip, and Sam pursed his own as he awaited her response to that. “We, uh… We decided that the long distance thing wasn’t working.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I mean, we see each other every day.”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

“Bullshit,” he barked. “After everything we’ve been through, you think I don’t care? You’re a great actress, but a terrible liar.” He risked reaching for her hand, relieved when she didn’t flinch away. The nicotine stains around his nails looked darker against her pale skin, and not for the first time he lamented the differences between them; their age, their habits. He shouldn’t care for her the way he does, he knows that. It’s the reason he walked away when Russell came into the picture in an official way. Let her be happy with someone stable, reasonable, safe. Sam was many things, but he wasn’t the safest bet — contrary and mercurial as he is. She knows that, of course, which is why she ran when he tried to kiss her. Ran straight into the white knight’s valiant arms and his bed. Sam was jealous, but he was man enough to squash it for her sake, if not his own. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

A shaky breath left her lungs as she stared down at their joined hands, watched the smooth back and forth of his thumb trailing over her knuckles. The gesture was a soothing as it was terrifying to her; her inside knotting up tighter and tighter as the heat of him sank in through her hand, through her body in every place they almost touched as they sat there side by side. “I was scared.”

“Of what? Did he do something? Did he hurt you?” His feathers ruffled at the thought of all the things that asshole may have done to Ruth, and his temper flared. “Do I need to fly to LA and teach that fucker a lesson? Just say the word, and I’m on the next flight. I’ll grab that viking, uh, uh-” He snapped his fingers, the name escaping him.

“Reggie,” Ruth finished with a laugh — half-indignant, half-flattered at Sam’s protectiveness — before placating him with a poor attempt at explanation. “No. No, he didn’t do anything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle…” She squeezed the hand that held hers before finishing, “This. Whatever this is.” She tried to retreat, widen their proximity, but with little conviction, and Sam only held her hand tighter, pulled her closer.

The beat beneath his ribs hammered as a tenuous hope flared. He took a deep calming breath as her words sank in, as he studied the set of her face. Ruth hadn’t looked him in the eyes once since their conversation started, and while he was a man prone to avoid confrontation where women were concerned, he found himself uncomfortable with this turn of events. If she hid within herself, how the hell was he to make anything of this going forward? Because like the selfish disaster of the man that he was, he did want something going forward. But she was skittish, wary in the same way he was. Both of them hurt too many times and too deeply to let things happen easily. Always fighting, always drowning in their failures; afraid of success, of validation, but craving it nonetheless.

He sucked on his tongue as he considered his next words, swallowing hard. Ruth didn’t want to do this. Not now. Everything about her body language screamed to drop it. What the hell could he say anyway? _I’m crazy about you. Have been since before that first stupid fight over that stupid promo, since before I tried to kiss you._ She fucking knew that. She fucking knew, and tonight was as close as he’d ever come to her admitting the same, and that was victory in itself, right? So instead of pursuing the line of questioning that she left open ended, he asked, “What time is it?” A stupid question, he realized, with a watch easily within view on his wrist, but Ruth’s shoulders relaxed a smidge as she adjusted the face with the hand not held in a vise. 

“Just after one.”

“Jesus. I should have been in bed an hour ago. I have a meeting with the head of entertainment at nine tomorrow.”

“Oh god! That’s tomorrow!” she panicked with apologetic sincerity. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t even think!” She bounded out of her seat, tugged him up by their still connected hands. 

Reluctantly, he released his grip, fisted his hand at his side as he glanced at the mess around the room. “You want some help with this?”

“No! No, go. I already tipped the cleaning crew extra to come and take care of it. We’re all good.”

“Are we?” A question within a question within a question.

A shy, shallow smile creased her perfect pink lips and her curls bounced. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.” On her tiptoes, she gripped his shoulders, planted a chaste kiss to his stubbled cheek near the corner of his lips. “Goodnight, Sam.”

* * *

The last fifteen minutes, Sam laid in the dim of his room, staring up at the plastered ceiling. Cigarette lit, but as yet unsmoked as he replayed the conversation in his head; packing and unpacking all the things that were said and the things left unsaid. It was complicated, messy, this ‘whatever this is’ as she put it. Technically, he was her boss, though that didn’t stop him in the past with other actresses. Ruth was different. She had ethics — at least when it came to work. Professionalism was important to her. He recalled what she’d relayed about her encounter with Tom Grant, and the way he wanted to fucking knock the arrogant ass’s block off. He wasn’t Tom Grant. He didn’t use actresses like whores in some quid pro quo bullshit. Rhonda was a mistake, yes, but they still worked well together; no hard feelings. And Cherry was one of his best friends — or maybe not. Fuck. They were friendly, but he didn’t know anymore. Ruth did that to him. Made him question things he thought he knew about himself.

A knock on the door drew him out of his head, and he glanced at the time; the red outline of numbers bright and readable even without his glasses: 1:58 AM. His cigarette was a nubbin. What a waste. He grounded the smouldering ember into the ashtray before locating his pants. Another knock echoed, more hesitant this time.

“I’m coming,” he called, wrestling the pants up his legs as he made his way to the door. “What is it?” he growled in annoyance, until he saw Ruth standing on the other side. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hi, umm... “ She rocked on her heels, cheeks slightly flushed shaking her head. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I woke you up. ” She thumbed behind her. “I’ll go so you can rest.”

“Wait. No.” He’d grabbed her forearm loosely before she could take even one step away; immediately, let it slip out of his grasp afraid that he'd spooked her. “I wasn’t sleeping. Come in.”

Hesitantly, she crossed the threshold, and it was only after he closed the door that he realized how she was dressed — or rather not. Just a short blue robe wrapped around whatever she wore beneath; her hair brushed out and down, her legs (which he’d seen countless times during practice) somehow more alluring as they extended out from the short hemline. His dick twitched, blood pooling until he was half-hard, and he had to adjust himself to hide it behind her back before she saw it.

“What, uh, did you need something?” He sniffed, cleared his throat as he came to stand beside her.

“Yeah. I was thinking. About the conversation we had earlier.”

Sam didn’t ask her to clarify, though they’ve had many conversations throughout the day. He knew what she meant, and she knew he knew.

Ruth’s small hand reached between them, found the soft mat of hair over his heart as she stepped forward until she was perched between his feet, and his own found the round curve of her hips automatically. “I,” she swallowed before finally tilting her face to meet his eyes, “I don’t know what this is. I just know that I’m tired of fighting it.”

“Ruth…” he groaned as she pressed her body, soft and warm against him. 

“Just kiss me, Sam, before I chicken out.”

There is something different about this, Sam knows. Even with his ex-wife, the act was perfunctory; a set of motions well-trod to get from A to Z (Z being orgasm). It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his previous sexual encounters, but they left him feeling empty, alone. Even in the midst of coitus, as they moaned and flailed, he felt lonely. There was nothing grounding him, nothing to keep him focused as he worked on autopilot. He’s used to it, and nothing about Ruth will let him drift off, off into mind numbing disembodied black until he is spent and disillusioned once more. It’s as disconcerting as it is refreshing, this newness of caring about the person beneath him. Every time he feels it encroaching, she reels him back with the whisper of his name, the rake of her nails along his scalp, his back. She is breathless, and he is breathless; both their voices raw, drawn tight as the slow rocking of their hips obliterates the world around them until it is a tiny pinprick on the horizon.

“ _Sam, Sam, Sam_ ,” she pleads, and he knows what she needs; knows how close she is to coming undone because he is riding that ever elusive wave with her. He wonders if she’s ever come with a man inside her. Wonders if maybe he’s the first, and simultaneously decides he doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t care, because she’s here now, choosing to be with him, and isn’t that a fucking miracle? 

His lips find hers as he trails a hand between them. Drinks down her cries as his thumb circles and circles; teasing and pressing, teasing and pressing as his cock rakes the deepest parts of her. She comes with a wail, her walls tightening around him until white flashes behind his eyes, pulling out at the last when he realizes how stupid they are, how they rushed into this. He didn’t have condoms and they were so drunk off finally being together neither of them cared, even though they should. 

_It’s not the right time. It’s not the right baby._

The words replay in his head after he collapsed atop her, her thighs sticky with his cum. Did she want a kid one day? _Christ_. Did he? Too soon, he decides. Too soon to think about a future that might never be. 

He kissed the juncture of her neck, her jaw, a soft press against her lips before he rolled off of her to reach for his Marlboros. He lit one for each of them, passing hers over, and giving her space to breathe in case there was any lingering regret. Ruth rucked the covers up over her breasts as she sat up next to him, her head finding his shoulder.

“That was… “ she trailed off, but Sam saw the shadow a smile on her swollen lips where she rubbed them with her thumb. No regrets then.

“Yeah,” he responded, contentedly draping his arm around her, as she tucks her face into his chest. 

This is enough for now. Everything else is just details. They’ll figure it out later because that's just what they do. 

**Author's Note:**

> The alternative title to this is: "I'm Lonely and My Cock Works Great" :D


End file.
